


Unstoppable/Immovable

by Dissolute



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Blood Mage no Seisen | Dragon Age: Dawn of the Seeker, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Fangirl Cassandra, Canon Universe, Female Friendship, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Story-Telling And Trash-Talking, Wintersend, Wintersend Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 12:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10334417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dissolute/pseuds/Dissolute
Summary: Prompt:Cassandra finally meets the heroine of Swords and Shields. She's heard so much about Aveline from the other people in Kirkwall*... how does she react? Is Aveline impressed by the hero of Orlais? Do they have a friendly duel (Varric sells tickets), or are they buddies at first sight? Do they go get drunk at the blooming rose and complain about the amount of bullshit they've both seen? Show me our fave lady knights together! Can be sexy or gen, as you desire.*(they say Aveline Vallen has a six pack, that Aveline Vallen is shredded)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nomette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomette/gifts).



> Minor divergences from the wording of the prompt, but hopefully the full spirit has been kept intact. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> There are some references to Dawn of the Seeker, but you’ll be missing little if you haven’t seen it.

Cassandra, as a rule, doesn’t drink; she prefers to be in full control of her faculties at all times. Too many moments in her life have shown her that mere seconds can separate peace and disaster for her to feel comfortable letting her guard down, even at the calmest of times.

Maker forgive her, but she needs a drink right now.

She grimaces as she downs another mouthful of her fourth glass of ale. The Seeker has never been one to run from her problems, but there’s nothing to _fix_ about her latest one, and that frustrates her more than anything else. She was _inside the Fade,_ fighting off a literal nightmare, not even a week ago. And she could handle that; Maker, that was the _easiest_ kind of situation for her to handle, unique environment aside. It was a crisis averted by hitting things with a sword until none were left to stand in their way. Simple. The Inquisitor and Solas could handle the ramifications of everything else without her. But…

Justinia.

Cassandra spoke to Justinia. Or a spirit. Or Justinia’s spirit. Or a remarkably helpful demon, which was _another_ concept she was forced to adjust to since joining the Inquisition, after the addition of Cole.

She couldn’t work out which possibility was _worst_ —or best, for that matter—and there would never be a way to truly know which it was regardless. She knows she needs to document the experience for posterity, but—she can handle that tomorrow. Right now, she needs to work through her feelings.

Since she has no desire to do that _either,_ at the moment, the next best thing is allowing herself a brief respite in the bottom of an arguably-sanitary glass.

And no one can take that away from her.

* * *

“… _Seeker?”_

Correction: one person can take that away from her.

After the moment of shock wears off, Varric breaks into laughter. “Is that our very own Cassandra Pentaghast, drowning her sorrows in a river of ale? Why do I feel like I just lost a bet I haven’t even made?”

Cassandra has lost just enough of her sobriety—and dignity—to bury her face against the table, into her arms. “Go _away,_ dwarf. Leave me to be miserable in peace.”

He ignores her, sitting in the chair across the table and putting down his own drink. “Miserable?”

“If I had any desire to delve into the topic at length, I would not _be_ here right now,” she mumbles.

Varric chuckles. “Point taken. Well, you’ve chosen a great day for your torment: I’ve just received word that an old friend of mine is coming. Tell me, how would you like to meet the star of your _favorite_ series?”

A scoff. “I am not yet drunk enough to start believing in fictional characters, Varric.”

“Oh, on the contrary: the knight-captain was based on a very real woman. One of my more accurate depictions, in fact. I usually have to spice up the duller parts of people—or, in the case of a pirate I know, water down—but Aveline always had that perfect combination of obstinate idealism and ineptitude in her personal life to make for a wonderful protagonist.”

It takes Cassandra’s muddled brain a few seconds to make the connection with the name, but she finally lifts her head up when she does. “Aveline? Aveline Vallen? She was present in your tale of the Champion, but I fail to see the resemblance.”

“I gave you the highlights I could tell in an afternoon, Seeker. I knew her for ten years, through every scowl and pathetic attempt at courting she’s had. And I’ve just heard that she’s making a trip to broker a deal with Ruffles; you’ll get to see her in full hitting-criminals-with-signs form.”

“With… signs? Ugh. Nevermind.” She pauses to take a sip as the weight of the offer finally sinks in, and she finds herself more excited than she cares to admit (to Varric, _or_ herself). Not that she’ll give the dwarf the satisfaction of knowing that. “I will consider it, should I have the time.”

Varric hums into his ale. “I see. Well, you should ‘consider’ quickly. She arrives in an hour.”

_“What?”_

Cassandra shoots out of the chair without thinking, and nearly trips over herself when whatever blood remained in her skull departs, blackening her vision. She stumbles to the side and half-falls-onto half-steadies-herself-with the (thankfully unoccupied) table next to her, groaning.

“Oh, my mistake, Seeker—did I say ‘arrives in an hour’? I meant ‘tomorrow morning.’” He gives an exaggerated shake of the head, then laughs at the death glare she sends him from over her shoulder. “Silly me. Well, I’ll just take my leave now; let you get back to your… duties.”

She is going to _kill_ that dwarf.

Just as soon as she can walk in a straight line again.

* * *

Cassandra feels ridiculous.

She is waiting inside the main hall, making idle chatter with the Inquisitor about some excursion they’re going on soon, and pointedly _not_ glancing over their shoulder at the Ambassador’s door every few seconds just in case it opens.

(She is fairly certain she is not fooling the Inquisitor in the slightest, considering they are the reason she was able to read the latest entry in the series to begin with, but they are tactful enough to pretend not to notice.)

When it does open, she has to suppress the urge to flinch, followed closely by the urge to dash over to the emerging redhead in plain view of everyone, her image be damned. It is only in the seconds that follow that it occurs to her she has _no plan for this,_ and an unfamiliar, flailing awkwardness rises inside of her as the Captain of the Guard begins to pass her by without even glancing over.

“Pardon me, Guard‐Captain?” the Inquisitor says, and Aveline stops and turns around. “Might you have a moment?”

Aveline walks over, and nods her assent. “Inquisitor. What do you need?”

They gesture to Cassandra. “Sorry for springing this on you last‐minute, but our Seeker wishes to discuss certain events in Kirkwall’s past with you. Corypheus was first discovered in your city, and we need to make sure there’s nothing about his emergence we’ve missed.”

She is fairly certain they’re her new favorite person.

“Of course. Anything to help restore order.”

“I would join, but I’m needed elsewhere. Good luck,” they say as they depart, and Cassandra can’t help but feel the parting words are aimed at her.

* * *

In a fairly‐secluded corner of the hall, it is no difficult task to keep up the topic of what Aveline knows about Corypheus; there’s little new information, but not none, and her perspective is refreshing for how straight‐forward and clean of emotions to color the story it is. It is rare to find _any_ account of Corypheus that isn’t either rambling insanity or broken sobbing.

Still, her succinctness means the conversation approaches its end far sooner than Cassandra is prepared for. When Aveline seems prepared to get up and leave, she panics, and blurts out, “so, you’re named after Ser Aveline?”

_You idiot._

At the look that appears on Aveline’s face, she does her best to backtrack before the other woman can speak. “Because—it must… get very annoying to hear that everywhere you go, no? I cannot help but cringe whenever someone remembers I am the ‘Hero of Orlais.’”

Aveline cocks her head. “The Hero?”

She freezes. “You have not heard the tale?”

It is the first time Cassandra sees Aveline laugh. “After years of hearing myself compared to the Knight, I’ve started turning tail every time I so much as hear ‘Orlais.’ What’s the story?”

Cassandra can’t suppress the noise of disgust that follows. “Is there no chance you could forget I brought it up?”

“Hey, at least your story revolves around something you’ve actually done. I’ve spent most of my life getting compared to a corpse.”

“I… have not thought of it like that.” She sighs, and leans forward. “Very well. It started with blood mages—”

“Doesn’t it always?”

That startles a smile out of Cassandra, and she finally finds herself starting to relax in the Guard‐Captain’s presence.

* * *

“… and though I do not consider myself one for dramatic displays, there was such adrenaline from surviving a fall from that height that I could not help but shout ‘for the Chantry!’ to the crowd below. Every single person I saw shouted it back to me.”

Aveline shakes her head, but doesn’t do much to hide her mirth. “Yet you try to convince me you _weren’t_ trying to end up in the history books.”

“I wasn’t! So much had occurred in those few short days, it simply… felt right.”

Cassandra finds herself surprised at how much fun she’s having retelling the story to Aveline. When forced to tell it, she always just speeds through the footnotes version—even when she told it to the Inquisitor—but there’s something about this woman, similar to her in so many ways, that makes her feel at ease (and, perhaps, the tiniest urge to impress).

“After that, Galyan and I—” she says, but stops, remembering what he had said to her next, and a pang she hadn’t allowed herself the time to feel for months catches up to her with a vengeance. She got so caught up in the emotion of it all…

She clears her throat, finishing with a more sober tone. “We saw the Divine again, with Avexis, and I found myself granted with two titles that day: Hero of Orlais, and Right Hand of the Divine. I found myself considerably more pleased with the second.”

“I’m sure.” She pauses. “Regalyan. Is he…?” is what she ends up asking. Cassandra would chafe at the question from most, but the Guard‐Captain has no pity in her eyes, and something about this moment compels her to share her grief with someone else.

“He was present at the Conclave. A representative for the mages.”

Aveline simply nods. “The war took many loved ones away. You should find peace in being one of those who ended it.” She seems to consider for a moment, then, “My husband Wesley was slain by Darkspawn when we left Lothering. Hard to get revenge on a foe that has no end.”

Cassandra nods, though she already knew about Wesley from her investigation. She feels the need to comfort Aveline the same way she had done so for her. “Despite the threat he poses, Corypheus is no more than a darkspawn who fancies himself a god. Should we defeat him, your assistance would have played no small role. That should count as vengeance, no?”

Aveline considers her for a moment, then smiles. “I suppose it would. That, and the hordes of darkspawn I fell in Ostagar doesn’t hurt.”

_That_ is something Cassandra did not know; she had no particular reason to care about the Guard‐Captain beyond her role in the events of Kirkwall, before now, and so never put effort into learning more about the woman than what Varric had told her. “You were at the Battle of Ostagar?”

She nods. “I was an officer in the army of Ferelden. Cailan called damn near all of us that could fit in the place to the Battle to help his ‘shot at glory.’”

The Seeker tries to hide the eagerness to learn more from her voice. “What was it like? Not at the end; at the beginning, before anyone knew it would go wrong. From the stories I have heard, it sounds like a moment very similar to ours back in Haven.”

“I can see that. On the front lines for something terrifying and grand, hope coursing through but tainted by the knowledge of the odds against you. Most days we spent preparing, it felt like a coin flip as to whether any of us would survive, and that was with assuming we _wouldn’t_ be betrayed. Darkspawn are hell for morale. Still, I was… excited. Ready. It felt like it was going to be my real start.”

“Your ‘real’ start? You were already an officer in the King’s Army.”

Aveline gets a wistful expression, and seems to search for words. “My father… he gave me my namesake because he always wanted me to follow in her steps and become a knight, but he had to flee Orlais after his patron was murdered; everyone knew he had no involvement, but—”

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise. “Do not tell me: ‘the Game.’”

“The worst sort of politics dressed up as recreation, yes. Ferelden doesn’t have the title of knight, not really, but he still sponsored my joining the King’s Army. Sold every last bit of his fortune to do it. I was good at what I did, climbed the ranks fast, but I always felt bound by the legacy he expected me to leave.”

The bonds of family: Cassandra understood it too well.

“You wished to be your own person.”

“That. To help people. To stop feeling like everything I did was paying back some debt I never signed up for. Success at Ostagar would have solved every problem I had at once.”

“Instead, Loghain twisted the knife further.”

Aveline scowls. “I was close to the king when it happened. Barely got out myself. Only managed it thanks to this one Warden, who hadn’t even noticed me at first…”

* * *

Somewhere during the back‐and‐forth storytelling, pretenses of Aveline’s quick departure get abandoned altogether, and ale manages to once more work its way into Cassandra’s life.

_Someone_ in Skyhold is having a bad influence on her, but her head is too warmed by drink and companionship to figure out who.

“… then right after we surfaced from that freezing lake, the Inquisitor made Sera draw away the bees that were still angry so we could get back to camp. She came back an hour later, covered from head to toe in welts and _two_ burn marks, and cursing us all out. To this day, she will not explain how she managed to get the burns.”

Aveline laughs, made deeper and richer from the alcohol, and it reverberates through Cassandra from across the table. The feeling is… pleasant.

She’s forgotten how much she misses the simple comradery of moments like this. It’s moved past simple hero worship; it’s become comfortable, in a way she’s been unaccustomed to for a while. She’s starting to find it within some members of the Inquisition, but even after having stepped down, she’s still seen as being among the leadership by many, and the power dynamic make it difficult for things to become so…

Easy.

“You’ve never met Merrill, right? Not rambunctious like your Sera, but too far in the other direction. Varric ever tell you about the time she locked the Viscount in his own home with a ball of string?”

* * *

“You’re lying,” Aveline says, but Cassandra can see joy spark in her eyes.

“Maker be my witness, Leliana did not even glance back as the _entire castle_ burst into flames.”

“Ha! It’s a shame Hawke never met her.” She tilts her head a moment after she says this, then shakes it vigorously. “I take that back. No one would survive the wreckage.”

Cassandra snorts, covering her mouth with her hand to try to hide it. “The worst part is that they would _both_ take that as a compliment.”

“You ever feel more like a—”

“—babysitter than a soldier?” they finish together, and both break into grins.

* * *

Cassandra lets out a slow exhale and tries to bleed out the slow warmth of her buzz. With each deep breath, she narrows her focus down to nothing more than her body and the target in front of her. She draws the practice sword in front of her, and at the end of the exhale, swings her arm and strikes the dummy hard across the side. The wood releases a satisfying groan of defeat for her efforts.

“When I asked what you do for fun around here, this wasn’t what I had in mind,” says Aveline. “Don’t we both train enough in our professional lives?”

Cassandra huffs in amusement, but relaxes her form. “This is not about training, Guard‐Captain. My training as a Seeker lasted years, and continues every time I am dragged along on some absurd excursion by the Inquisitor. This is to relax. By the time I am finished, I will have worked every muscle in my body and felt the strength each is capable of. It is grounding.”

Aveline shrugs and grabs a practice sword from the small pile at the side. She enters fighting stance and gives the same dummy Cassandra was targeting a few warm‐up strikes.

“Wait. That’s not right.”

Aveline raises an eyebrow, but pauses. “You may be the first person to tell me I’m not hitting something well enough.”

“No, that’s not—you are hitting it as thought it is a foe to be felled. You are saving as much energy as you can so as to be ready for anything around the corner. Like I said, this is not about _practice.”_ She steps closer, and settles into form again in demonstration. “Take a stance that involves every part of your body, and when you strike—”

_Thwack._

“—do it with enough slow, concentrated force to feel it move through the whole of you.”

Aveline seems at least willing to play along, and follows along with the instructions. She echoes the deep inhale Cassandra had taken earlier, and as the breath comes out…

_Crack!_

They both stare at the splintered remains of what was once a practice dummy. A few seconds later, Aveline turns her head to give a play‐boastful grin at Cassandra, who scowls to replace the look of admiration that was there before. “Please. I’ve been practicing on that one all day. I weakened it.” Still, she’ll gladly let the faux affront to her honor slide, if it means she’ll get to see that smile on Aveline again.

* * *

She can’t remember which of them first suggested arm‐wrestling, but neither has gained an inch of traction since they’ve started.

“What’s wrong? Did ‘Captain of the Guard’ become a desk job when I wasn’t looking?” Cassandra grunts.

Aveline’s ragged exhale has faint echoes of amusement. “Harder to beat an opponent that isn’t made of wood, Seeker?”

“If this is the quality of Kirkwall’s guard, it is no wonder Meredith felt the need to take over. It was a kindness.”

“So says the Nevarran princess.”

“So says the Orlesian noble!”

“Aren’t the Pentaghasts dragon hunters? Sure you don’t need to practice on some nugs first?”

“I would rather practice on mabari.”

“Is your plan to save Thedas just ‘have Corypheus laugh himself to death when he sees who’s leading us’?”

“Is your plan to save Kirkwall from burning down just—oh, _wait.”_

* * *

At the twenty‐seventh minute of the stallmate, Aveline suggests they call a draw. Cassandra agrees, but only to spare her newfound friend’s feelings for when she was claimed the eventual victor.

* * *

“It was the _third ship_ Isabela managed to sink that month, and the only time in my life I had seen the Knight‐Commander cry, and all Hawke had to say was—”

“Pardon, Aveline, but we must depart soon if we wish to beat out the snow on the mountain pass.”

At the new arrival’s voice, Cassandra’s posture snaps into a respectable position—she’s nowhere near as drunk as she was the last time she indulged, and her reaction time can almost be called convincing. Aveline, to Cassandra’s surprise, makes no effort to adjust herself at all.

“We can’t leave tomorrow?”

“Storm’s rolling in, dear; it’s today or days from now.”

Ah. ‘Dear.’

A small, dark part of Cassandra tightens at the intimacy, though she can’t decipher why.

Aveline sighs. “Very well. Thank you, Donnic; I’ll be right there.” She stands up and stretches with a slow exhale, then turns to Cassandra. “Sorry to cut this short, Cassandra, but thank you for the stories. With everything going on right now, it’s nice to unwind.”

Cassandra stands, then clears her throat and nods. “Thank you as well, Guard‐Captain.” She reaches out her hand and gives Aveline a firm handshake.

It is, though she cannot help but feel disappointed, much as she attempts to strangle the feeling as soon as it appears. They are simply too busy and too far‐apart, and she is thankful for the opportunity to have met Aveline at all—

“I don’t know if you’re interested, but Varric’s set up a route for messages between the two of us. Much as I’m loathe to admit it, he’s become the backbone of Kirkwall over the years. I’m sure he’d pass along messages between us if you asked. Though no guarantees he won’t read them himself first for story fodder.”

—although, she thinks, she might let herself have this small respite, distance be damned.

“I would enjoy that very much, Guard‐Captain.”

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism—even/especially negative—is desired and encouraged.
> 
> I’ll add another chapter to this, after the work is de‐anonymized, based on prompts from comments. Leave something you’d like to see them do or discuss together!


End file.
